


Hey Good Cookin'

by dramatisecho



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cooking, Eventual Happy Ending, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, One Shot Collection, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-05-23 03:01:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6102634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dramatisecho/pseuds/dramatisecho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of one-shots // Charles and Erik engage in a 'fake' relationship to boost Erik's status as a celebrity chef, and help out Raven's reality television show. If only it were that cut and dry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Words

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GQD](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GQD/gifts).



> Inspired by the prompt and corresponding art on garnetquyen's tumblr. The link to the art and mini prompt can be found here: http://garnetquyen.tumblr.com/post/136793330205/kind-of-a-continuation-from-this-au-fff-for
> 
> I just loved the idea, and had to write a couple scenarios that wouldn't get out of my head. There will be an eventual happy ending, and these are just going to be snippet one-shots in this verse. Enjoy!

“ _...How's the pasta?”_

 

“ _Oh! Yes, it tastes delicious. Really Erik... you always manage to outdo yourself.”_

 

“ _Great. Now you know how to make another dish for yourself when this whole thing ends.”_

 

...

 

Charles was one man who truly understood the power of words. His love for education, the number of books he devoured on a near daily basis; words, stories, theories, essays, poems, studies... words painted each page of each one. It was hard not to take them seriously, given his profession and infatuation with the written word.

And Erik, he had learned, seemed to know _exactly_ what combination of words would hurt him most.

He didn't believe the chef was doing it consciously. And therein lied the problem.

This was a contract. A temporary relationship, that was only scheduled to last ten months. If Charles was beginning to fall in love with a man who had made it quite clear he had no interest in the subject... well, that was on him. He was going to get hurt. The equation had been proved time and time again when applied to unrequited feelings.

The 'engagement' was to boost Raven's television series – by promoting Erik as a guest star, who in turn, was given his own “story line”... which happened to include a fictional childhood-friend-turned-sweetheart that would ultimately end in a break up. Charles wasn't clear on why exactly, but Erik's agent (a ruthless and extremely adept woman, Ms. Frost) had said something about upping the celebrity chef's 'bachelor status' and putting his 'good looks to good use'. Any publicity was good publicity, apparently.

Plus, a broken engagement would engage the sympathies of Erik's fans and admirers around the globe.

Charles couldn't help but wonder if that meant he was going to have to be the 'bad guy' in all of this...

“...Yeah.” Charles finally murmured in response. It felt as if an age had gone by since Erik had spoken, though he knew his initial shock had only lasted a few seconds. “I'll have to start keeping a recipe book.”

Erik turned his gaze back to the man tucked beneath his arm, “...Why? I'll just get you one of my cookbooks.” he shrugged, giving Charles a teasing grin, “I'll even sign it for you.” The arm that was draped across Charles' shoulder shifted, and Erik ruffled the professor's soft hair affectionately – before he pulled himself up from the sofa.

“Oh... great. Cheers.” Charles replied, forcing a smile. _No, not great. Horrible. Depressing. I want to continue to wake up next to_ _ **you**_ _every morning, not stare at a scribble in some book..._ he thought.

This whole 'assignment' might have been easier to handle, had Erik not been who he was. That is: _exactly_ Charles' type. Tall, broad shoulders, toned build, copper tinted hair, steely coloured eyes; intelligent, sharp witted with dry humour, somewhat arrogant... but talented enough to back it up – responsible, dedicated, stubborn, and passionate about what he was doing with his life. God. Charles didn't think he'd _ever_ wanted someone so much in his life...

But this was just torture. Pretending to be an incredibly happy, deeply in love couple – only to retreat back to their new living arrangement to wade through mixed-signal after mixed-signal. Tonight was a perfect example!

Charles had come home to Erik making dinner, but the man had barely spoken two words to him while he manoeuvred around the kitchen with fierce efficiency. Charles had tried to goad the man into their usual banter, or pleasant conversation. But Erik had responded with clipped words... clearly, in no mood. So the professor had left him alone. As he'd sat in front of the television, working away on some grading for his class – Charles was graced with a nice, hot bowl of pasta. It had smelled heavenly. But Erik had just plopped it in front of him with a fork, and disappeared again.

Muttering a quick thank-you to his already retreating “husband”, and began to eat. Friends and family had always commented on how hopeless Charles was when it came to caring properly for himself... so having Erik nearby to provide delicious, nutritious meals almost 3-times a day was a fantastic change. Not that he asked Erik to. The man had just taken it upon himself to prepare all their meals – as rare as it was for the two to enjoy it _together_.

The short brunette had resigned himself to a night of marking and quiet companionship, when Erik plopped himself down beside Charles. _Very_ close beside him. And then proceeded to drape his long arm around the back of the sofa (and coincidentally, Charles' shoulders), before leaving it there and striking up a mild conversation about the celebrity-gossip program that was on the telly.

And it was mixed signals like THESE that confused Charles to no end; it was hard enough to keep his grip on reality when Erik could flip from being distant, to casually comforting one moment to the next.

Did he fell _anything_ for Charles? When he made the chef laugh, or smile fondly at something clever he'd done or said... was all of it an act? Was Erik just _that_ good at pretending?  
  
“Ah- ... are you doing the dishes?” Charles called, trying to act normal despite his internal battles. He had finished his pasta, and stood with the bowl to head back toward the kitchen. “I'll do it. You cooked that lovely pasta after all. Only fair.” his smile back in full-force by the time he entered the kitchen.

Erik was at the sink, but was only in the process of filling it with soapy water. “...You hate doing the dishes.” he smirked.

“Well yes, but I'm not the only one who was working. You couldn't have been home much longer before me, you've had a long day too. Now shove over, darling. Let me do them. There's a good chap.” he encouraged, moving beside Erik and bumping the man out of the way with his hip.

Erik chuckled, watching as Charles put on the oversized rubber gloves and began to get to work on the pile of dishes; plates, cooking utensils, and all the pots. Not one to keep still (and preferring an immaculate kitchen), Erik began to wipe down the counters and do a bit of general tidying; taking a mental inventory of the ingredients he had left, the state of his cookware, and preparing a mental list for his next grocery run.

They had only reached the ten minute mark when Erik noticed Charles' enthusiasm had dipped. Drastically. He was rubbing and scrubbing the pots with a hint of frustration; clearly “over” the task he'd given himself. Erik had to force back the urge to laugh.

_Adorable..._

The word seemed to pop into his mind a LOT when it came to Charles. The man was so steadfast and loyal; he held to his honour and was (without a doubt) the most intelligent individuals Erik had ever crossed. And while he adored the best parts of Charles.... Erik was surprised to find he had begun to enjoy the weaknesses and flaws just as much.

Charles was not good at cleaning or housework; vein attempts to tidy his study or the living room were always abandoned when he became engrossed in a book or series of essays he had misplaced days prior. He left tea mugs everywhere (though to his credit, did make a mean cup of tea... Erik still had no idea how someone became good at something like that), his clothing and cardigans were always haphazardly hung in the closet at their best – but mostly draped over chairs and other surfaces until they were needed later. He mumbled and talked to himself quietly, he could be somewhat absent-minded, and far too generous and far too trusting. Really. Erik felt like he had assumed the role of 'guard-dog' at times; like he had to protect Charles from tumbling down a well, or being scammed by hustlers on the street or internet.

It was a ridiculous impulse. Charles was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. He'd survived these last twenty-seven years, after all (though Erik is sure Raven would argue that was because of her). Just because Erik was five-years older than the Brit, and had a bit more 'street-smarts' or cultural experience, didn't mean Charles was helpless

Still.

That urge to 'protect' was growing stronger each day.

Walking back over toward the shorter young man, Erik smacked Charles in the face with the damp rag he'd been using to tidy... successfully snapping the other out of his trance. “Erik!” Charles scolded with a pout, “You should let your pots _soak_ right after using them. Look how long this is taking me!” he complained; tone verging on whiny. The pout was in full force now. “The _longer_ it soaks, the less likely you're going to run into these bits of caked-food along the sides and crevasses of your cookware.”

“Right on time.” Erik mused fondly.

Charles tilted his head, staring at his husband. “What?... What's right on time?”

“Your cleaning-tantrum.” he clarified, still trying to keep a straight faced when looking at Charles' aghast expression. “It happens every time. You say you'll clean something, you start, and then give up when you recall just how much you dislike it.”

The Brit glared at the chef, but it was about as effective as a kitten scowling at a lion. “Well I didn't _say_ I was quitting, did I?” he huffed, scrubbing more furiously at the pot. “I'm allowed to complain. Wash your dishes as you go... like I do!”

Erik couldn't help it. He laughed, and shook his head, “Putting your dishes into the sink, filling them with water, and walking away – _isn't_ doing your dishes, Charles.”

He had to admit, as predictable as Charles could be sometimes – Erik didn't see the splash of water coming. He could feel some water dripping down around his forehead, some spatter clear on his now damp black polo as he stood there, frozen in shock.

Charles had the audacity to giggle to himself while he continued on, as if nothing had happened.

“Big mistake, Xavier.” Erik growled, reaching beneath the faucet to wet his own hands – before flicking them toward Charles' face – lightly spraying him back with water. Charles laughed and tried to retaliate by slapping his soap-covered gloves against Erik's cheek before it became a full on water fight. They pushed and grappled for a good five minutes, almost breathless with laughter and heat-less curses toward one another before they came to a stop...

They were much closer now. Their arms and limbs somewhat entwined from the playful scrap, their breathing a bit more laboured... and Charles; bright blue eyes, flush on his cheeks, and faint smile as he looked up at Erik. It was a perfect moment – and Erik was looking at him so fondly... dipping his head down, eyeing Charles' lips as if he were about to-  
  


_Buzz. Buzz. Buzz._  
  


The sound of Erik's mobile vibrating against the nearby counter breaks their little haze – causing both men to jolt away from one another. “Shit...” Erik muttered in a growl, turning away to retrieve it.

He picks up the cell phone and barks a quick: “Lehnsherr.” in greeting. Erik then begins to talk business to the caller on the other end – keeping his back to Charles, and soon disappears out of the kitchen and down the hall.

“Drat.” Charles sighs, resting back against the counter. He takes a few moments to let his rapidly beating heart settle, before peeling off his dish gloves and abandoning the rest of the dishes. He'd finish them later.

 

 _Mixed signals and words_.

Charles can only resign himself to the fact he'll be wading through a torrid sea full of _both_ as he continues to navigate this... partnership.

 


	2. Support

 

“Killer party, bro.” Raven's sarcastic drawl reaches his ears before he turns to lay eyes on her. She looks fantastic in the simple black dress she's wearing; it contrasts wonderfully with her electric blue hair, perfectly styled with a bold red lip and light eye makeup (her trendiness never ceased to amaze Charles whenever he saw her). But as great as she looks, it's more than evident that she's bored. “The next time I think that spending time in a room of stuffy academics is a _good_ , remind me how dull it actually is.”

Charles grinned, “Free booze, though.” he saluted her with his cocktail glass before knocking the rest of it back in one gulp.

“Still not worth it.” she replied smoothly, swirling the contents of her own glass as she scanned the room. “Your sweet piece of kosher meat hasn't turned up yet?”

He scoffed at Raven's latest description of Erik, before looking around the room himself, “Not yet. He's late... to no one's surprise. I thought I could stand to work the room myself, but having back-up is invaluable.” Charles paused, looking back to his sister, “Speaking of which: where's your date? Oh god. You didn't ditch him, did you?”

“Ditch him?!” Raven laughed, eyeing her brother, “Yeah. I pulled a 'twelve year old girl' move and 'ditched' him. I'm just about to go to the bathroom and discuss my mortification at length with four other women, and giggle at his expense.” Charles shot her a mild glare, not impressed with her mocking sarcasm (though really, he should be quite used to it by now). The blonde smiled, “Relax, Charles. He's getting us more drinks. Hank's been the only saving grace of this whole thing. He's so cute and... proper. I just want to fog up his glasses.”

Charles did have to laugh at that, “My dear, considering the extent of his crush on you... I doubt that will be a hard task to accomplish.”

 

 

 

_**One Week Earlier** _

 

 

Erik and Raven were staring at him from the sofa, looking as if he had just blurted out the most complicated equation known to man. They weren't biting.  


“...Come on!” the Brit goaded with a beaming smile, “Open bar. Lovely setting. It'll be fun.”

  
Raven groaned, and slouched a little further into the sofa, “It's not the setting, Charles. It's the crowd.”

  
“What?... Delightfully academic?” he prompted.

  
“Delightfully dull,” his sister countered, “...and all the booze in the world won't change that, Charles. Besides. I have no date.”

  
Charles whipped out his phone, “Which is why I have the perfect escort for you! Hank.”

  
“...Your T.A?” Raven asked, “The tall one? Glasses? Surprisingly buff body?”

  
Erik and Charles shared a brief look, before he hesitantly answered, “Yes?”

  
“Great.” She nodded, standing up and sauntering out of the room, “Tell him to pick me up at my place around seven,” she tossed back over her shoulder before disappearing.  
  
  
“Easier than I expected.” Charles smiled to himself, “One down, one to go. Erik?” he asked, looking hopefully back to his fake husband.  


Erik made a face and sighed, “You really need _me_ there? ...I won't fit in.”  
  
  
“Sure you will!” Charles encouraged, moving to sit in Raven's vacated spot. He patted Erik on the knee, “You're incredibly intelligent, you know. You don't give yourself enough credit. We don't have to stay too long. Just work the room a little bit, make some pleasant quips here and there – then we're done! Besides, these benefits only happen twice a year.”  


The chef huffed out a small laugh, “Alright, alright.. stop yammering on.” he teased, nudging Charles on the shoulder. “I'll be there. I'll tell Emma to slot it into my schedule. Shouldn't be a problem.” he patted Charles on the back as he stood up from the couch, “What kind of husband would I be if I didn't support my main squeeze, hm?”  


“What kind, indeed...” Charles smiled gently, blushing a bit.

 

 

 

_**The Present** _

 

Charles was looking at his phone for the sixth time that night. He'd texted Erik a few times, but hadn't gotten a response yet. It was making him a bit angry (or 'pissy' as Raven had so lovingly coined mere minutes ago). He really didn't ask much of Erik; in fact, he was going along with this whole facade to help the chef's image – and increase ratings for Raven's reality show. What was _he_ getting out of the deal?... Some money? Big deal. His family was wealthy enough without more of the green stuff. No. All Charles was getting was into trouble. BIG trouble. Because his stupid crush wasn't disappearing.  


“Professor Xavier,” a rumbling voice caught his attention. Turning around, he saw one of his colleagues – Professor Houston – approaching with his wife in tow. He sighed quietly; he had nothing against the man's wife (she was always pleasant enough), but Professor Houston was kind of a prick. He had a habit of giving backhanded compliments to everyone, and toting himself as the greatest instructor to ever grace the University's staff.  


“Professor Houston,” Charles greeted, plastering a forced smile onto his face. “And Sylvia. How are you, my dear? You look lovely, as always.” his smile toward the older woman was a little more genuine, as he leaned in to peck her cheek.  


She gave him a fond look in return, “Hello Charles. You're looking well.”  


“Yes... well and... surprisingly single?” Professor Houston goaded with a raised brow, “Everyone's been talking abut your new 'husband'. I half expected you to try and bring him along. That celebrity chef... what's his name again?”  


Charles tensed a bit, “Erik. Erik Lehnsherr."  


“Yes, Lehnsherr. That flashy cook with a television show. They seem to give those away nowadays, don't they? Every time you turn around, someone else has a new program. Suppose _we'll_ be next, Xavier? Live lectures and the perils of teaching uninterested twenty-somethings?”  


The Brit chuckled stiffly, “Yes, well, I doubt the ratings would be any good.” he tried to joke along, “With both my sister and husband in the business, I suppose it's only natural I tag along for the ride. Don't you think I have the face for television?” he joked, tilting his head up a bit to catch the light.  
  
  
Sylvia laughed warmly, but her husband cleared his throat, “You better make sure it's the 'right' kind of television program,” he smirked, “I have to be honest, Xavier. I wasn't expecting you to pick someone who's at the opposite spectrum of an academic. In fact, I wasn't even expecting you to be... that sort.”

  
Charles swallowed, beginning to feel a bit defensive, “That sort?”

  
“Homosexual.” Professor Houston clarified without missing a beat. “You were always a bit precocious, I suppose. I thought that was just chalked up to your youth; gallivanting through your degrees at such a young age. But given your family and status here, I still expected you to show up with some hot young thing on your arm. Not a cocky _male_ celebrity.”

  
“Wayne.” his wife scolded quietly.

  
“Oh come on, I'm just teasing. We're all used to it now.” Professor Houston laughed, trying to play off the insult as harmless teasing, “Xavier is still a fine professor. Still. Maybe you should've shown up in a ball gown, or something, hm?”

  
“Now _that_ would have been a sight.” a familiar German-hilted voice agreed. Charles turned, relief flooding through his entire body to see Erik (looking fucking gorgeous as ever in a black suit) approach. He inserted himself right beside Charles, and wrapped an arm around him. “You'd look fantastic in a dress, _liebling_.”

  
Charles laughed, blushing a bit, “That is quite the theory, darling. Shall we test it later?”

  
“We'll have to demonstrate a few different scenarios, I think. Make notes on all the outcomes.” Erik grinned.

  
Professor Houston cleared his throat briskly, “...Xavier.”

  
“Oh! I do apologize,” Charles smiled, beaming again now that Erik was with him. “Erik, this is Professor Wayne Houston – and his lovely wife Sylvia,” he introduced, “Sylvia, Wayne, this is Erik Lehnsherr.”

  
Erik nodded to Professor Houston, but gave more of a flirtatious wink toward Sylvia, “Pleasure to meet you.” he said, “I hope you've been keeping Charles out of trouble. He can get a bit wild with a few drinks in him.”

  
“Now now, you promised to keep that between us.” he blushed a bit. The colour on his cheeks grew deeper as Erik leaned over to place a few tasteful kisses on his cheek and side of his jaw. Not too over the top - but a clear and true 'fuck you' to the man in front of them. Charles was smitten. Erik had swooped in at just the right time, and had not only put Houston in his place - but was digging home the message with being overly affectionate. 

   
Professor Houston cleared his throat again, looking more perturbed, “Excuse me. I need to refresh my drink.” he shot his wife a stern look, before retreating into the crowd.

  
Sylvia didn't follow initially, but hesitated and looked between them, “I want to apologize, Charles. Wayne is rather set in his ways. He has a difficult time accepting more... _modern_ lifestyles and relationships.” she said, clearly trying to find the most gentle and diplomatic way to call her husband a homophobe. “But you're a wonderful young man, Charles. And Mr. Lehnsherr, I'm quite the fan. I _love_ your stuffed chicken-breast with goat cheese and leeks...” she glanced toward her husband's back, “As does my husband.”  


Erik laughed, “I appreciate that, Sylvia. Charles likes that recipe too.”  


“I like _all_ your recipes. And I've gained about ten pounds since we married because of it.” he pouted, patting his stomach.  


Erik tugged Charles closer and placed a kiss on his temple, “You look as gorgeous as you did the first time I saw you, _Maus_. Wouldn't change a thing.”  


“You two.” Sylvia laughed, shaking her head. “It was good to see you again, Charles. And I'm happy you've found someone just as cheeky as you.” she teased with a knowing grin. She reached over and patted his arm, “Keep each other in line. You're good together.”  


Charles nodded, “Thank you, Sylvia. Enjoy the rest of your evening. Stop 'round my office next time you're on campus. We'll have some tea and a nice catch-up.”  


“I'd like that, Charles. It was nice to meet you, Erik.” she smiled, disappearing back into the crowds in search of her husband.  


The Brit felt the man at his side finally huff in irritation, “So _that_ is what you've been dealing with all night? Assholes like Houston?” Erik grumbled, “I Should have come sooner... sorry. Got held up.”  


“Oh, now don't fret about that.” Charles reassured him, slipping his hand into Erik's, “You arrived at just the right moment. _Perfect_ timing, actually. And you handled it so well. I owe you.” he smiled, leaning into Erik's side. “Let's get you nice and drunk.”  


Erik laughed, “Oh yes. Good idea. Get me liquored up. Take advantage of me. I'm on to you, Xavier.” he smiled, following Charles toward the bar.  


Charles knew he was in trouble. He shouldn't feel so complete, so happy, so relieved to have Erik in his company...

 

 

 

When Charles woke up, he immediately shut his eyes again with a wince. “Uggggggh....” he groaned, turning to smoosh his face back into his pillow. Great. He was hungover. Thank god he'd given his classes the day off to do essay and research work for their upcoming midterms. He didn't think he could handle trying to wrangle young people to do anything.

  
What surprised him was that he wasn't... alone in bed. Now that his brain was trying to come online, and focus past the throbbing pain, he could feel a warm body beside him. And an arm around his waist. Charles carefully propped himself up and turned – blinking wearily at the sight of Erik.

  
_Shit._

  
He was only wearing some stylish boxer briefs,too – gorgeous toned muscles on display. Hair delightfully ruffled. “Bollocks...” Charles sighed. What was worse than waking up in bed next to Erik? Waking up in bed, hungover, and (apparently)remembering very little of what happened after they had left the benefit. He leaned over the edge of the bed – and spotted a clearly used condom in the garbage.

  
Well. _That_ would explain the delicious ache in his body (not just a side effect from the booze, he supposed). Collapsing back down into his pillow, Charles hugged it to him, and tried not to smile like an idiot. He loved moments like this the best. He could project himself into the fantasy that he and Erik _were_ really married; that they really loved one another and sleeping together was a regular occurrence.

  
Reluctantly, he pulled himself away from the warm sheets and headed into their ensuite bathroom. Despite having the day off from class, Charles did have a number of errands to run and work to do in the study. He'd get some tea, take some painkillers, and be good to go. He hopped into the shower, and managed to keep it under twenty-five minutes before he was out, and brushing his teeth in the reflection of the foggy mirror.

  
Movement in the corner of his eye startled him, and Charles turned to see Erik shuffling his way into the bathroom; eyes at half mast, looking so cute and rumpled. He smiled, “Good morning, Erik.” he said warmly, almost expecting a kiss in greeting. But Erik just hummed, and began to brush his teeth as well. Charles tried to relax (and ignore the fact he was just in a towel, and Erik was just in his boxer briefs) and continue about his own routine... but he was still a bit distracted with the handsome chef at his side. “So!” he began, clearing his throat, “Did you have fun last night?... I had a rather good time myself.”

  
Erik muttered a garbled response again – before rising his mouth, and stripping down without a second thought. Charles blushed and looked down at the sink (which was absurd! He'd seen Erik naked before), as the German stepped into the shower, closing the door behind him and turning on the spray.

   
Ok. Well.

  
Charles could tell they wouldn't be discussing last night any time soon.  


“Drat.” he sighed, putting his toothbrush away and heading out of the bathroom.

 

 


End file.
